


Contact Information

by MissHawkeye



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Young Avengers
Genre: Awkwardness, Christmas Party, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Language, Loki Does What He Wants, Mention of Rape/Non-con, very small mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 08:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2844866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissHawkeye/pseuds/MissHawkeye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America wasn't a good girlfriend, and she sure as hell wasn't a good FAKE girlfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contact Information

“I’d like to start this apology with an explanation of how I was just trying to make a joke and I really, very, truly did not expect anything to come of it,” Loki announced as he entered the apartment. The door closed behind him with a clunk, an auditory punctuation.

Everyday America grew to regret her decision to live with Loki. Well, she didn’t exactly “officially” live with him, but this was her third straight week crashing at his place. America had practically merged with his couch at this point. She hated being in one place for so long, but her options were lacking and Loki was a bit of a pushover. Literally, she had pushed him over in her attempt to get into his apartment.

She was sitting on that very same couch she was now calling home in her american flag pajamas--most of her clothing was american themed, from years of gag gifts and not being able to afford her own. She froze with her spoonful of soggy cereal halfway to her mouth. She sighed and placed it on the table.

“Yeah, that’s not a good way to start an apology, chico,” America turned to Loki. “Is this joke something that’s going to make me want to punch you?”

“It’s harmless.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Loki grinned with all his teeth and awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. “It would be easier if I just showed you.”

Loki took out his phone, and once he began to pull up craigslist, America reeled back in disgust. He quickly noticed her reaction. Loki held his hands up in surrender, promising, “I said it was harmless! A mild inconvenience!”

America snatched the phone from him and read the ad Loki had posted: Are you a lonely lesbian this non-denominational holiday break? Do your parents not approve of your sexuality? Do you have the unbearable urge to rub your queerness in their face(s), but you don’t have the bae necessary to do so? Look no further!

The phone case creaked ominously in America’s hand.

“See, this is nowhere as bad as you first thought!”

“No, it’s much worse.”

“That’s a shame, because someone has already hired your services,” Loki grimaced. 

“Some girl hired me to come to her family dinner, make awkward small talk, and charm her parents?” America asked dubiously. “That’s not exactly my scene.”

She knew nothing good would come from the positively gleeful look that Loki tried desperately to conceal. “Actually, she’s hired you to come to her family’s annual Christmas party, make an ass of yourself, and horrify everyone in attendance.”

\----

America waited at the pickup point that Loki had oh-so-helpfully arranged (she didn’t believe for a second that he was sorry) with the full intention of telling this mystery rich girl that ‘sorry for the confusion, but you’re on your own’. She had been waiting for 15 minutes, growing increasingly pissed by the second, when a beat up red car pulled up. The driver stopped suddenly, the tires screeching and leaving the faint stench of burnt rubber.

The window rolled down, and a head popped out. “Are you America Chavez?”

America was going to say no. She going to turn around and leave. She didn’t even know why she had bothered to show up in the first place. But all those thoughts flew out of her head. America knew that, supposedly, rich white girls were supposed to be pretty, but she never saw the appeal. Too much bullshit. 

This girl had long black hair, big blue eyes, pink lips puckered in a scowl, and a pimple growing on the side of her nose; none of those things made her more or less appealing. They added to the larger picture. It felt like something was tugging on America’s stomach. Her throat was dry as she answered, “yeah.”

“Is that what you’re wearing? No, forget that, it’s perfect,” she snorted. America looked down self consciously at her high-waisted pants and stars and stripes blouse, partially covered by a large winter coat. She allowed herself a moment of embarrassment before clenching her jaw and remembering that she had worn these clothes to prove a point. She was not going to dress fancy for this event. She was not going to that party. “Get in.”

She got in. Damn it.

The girl was wearing a strapless purple dress with her heels tucked by the gear shift, as she was driving barefoot. Her white-gloved hands were clenched around the steering wheel. America was thrown back in her seat as the girl thrust her way back into traffic.

The silence, alternately punctuated with the honking of car horns, was awkward as America struggled to say something. She had too many questions, with no idea where to start. Just as she opened her mouth, a low groan sounded from the backseat.

America didn’t scream, but she did jump in her seat. “Ay dios, what the hell is that guy doing back there?!”

A man was collapsed on the backseat bench, his limbs curled up into a ball. His blonde hair looked as mussed and dirty as his clothes.

She glanced back cursorily, “that’s my loser friend, Clint. I had to pick him up from a bar. That’s why I was late. It’s his first Christmas since his divorce.”

Clint groaned again, “shut up.”

“He’s not taking to very well,” the volume of her voice increased with each word, “but he should know that if he pukes on my upholstery I will SKEWER him.”

“Are we going to drop him off somewhere or something?”

“Don’t have time. He can wait in the car. I’ll crack a window.”

There was something derisive but familiar about her tone that rubbed America the wrong way. This whole situation (thank you, Loki) had her skin crawling. There were also those annoying butterflies in her stomach. The whole thing had her off her game.

“With an attitude like that, no wonder you needed to hire a date,” America muttered under her breath. The girl heard and an outraged look crossed her face. Just as America was cursing her, the girl abruptly began to laugh.

“Wow, I’m being an asshole, aren’t I? Sorry. I’m kind of freaking out about tonight,” she began to ramble. “I usually take my friend Cassie to these things, but she’s already dealing with two separate Christmases with her parents. My ex Tommy likes to scare my dad, but since I just came out as bi, I felt like it would send the wrong message. Like I wasn’t being serious.”

“What am I supposed to expect tonight, anyway?”

“Well, you’ll probably be politely ignored by my dad, politely insulted by his trophy wife, and politely racially-profiled by all the guests. The distinguished Bishop family only keeps polite company.”

America snorted; this was shaping up to be a terrible night. “Bishop. Bishop, what?”

“What?”

“What’s your first name?”

“You seriously don’t know. I gave you my information when I hired you,” she looked exasperated.

“I have a bad memory,” America shrugged.

“Well, it’s Kate.”

“Nice to meet you, Kate Bishop.”

\----

America wasn’t entirely sure what she had been expecting, but apparently the Bishops rented out a ballroom every year for their annual Christmas party. They quickly exited the car, Kate tipping the valet a twenty to ignore Clint snoring in the back. The guests were dressed in their best formal wear, and America felt even more out of place. While Kate had managed to put her at ease and make her laugh, watching these snooty people sip at their champagne reminded America how this was very much not her world.

“We need to work the room and introduce you to as many people as possible before we get to my Dad. I don’t want him to try and pass you off as my friend,” Kate whispered, wrapping her arm around America’s waist.

And mingle they did. Kate dragged them from couple to couple: Harvard boys and their sorority girlfriends back home on winter break, geriatrics dripping with diamonds, middle aged men with their trophy wives wrapped around them. The reactions seemed to always be one of three

pursed lips, tensed shoulders, and a barely polite brush-off (“It was nice to see you too, Mrs. Thompson. I heard David’s back from rehab, send him my best wishes!”)  
a leer, a waggling eyebrow, and a sexual proposition (“You don’t have enough dick to satisfy one girl, Grant, let alone two.”)  
a shocked look, a quick recovery, and a reminder of a close relative who was also a lesbian (“That’s wonderful, Mr. Koenig, but I’m bisexual, not a lesbian. You actually met my ex-boyfriend last year. Yes, we’re still good friends. No, he did not turn me gay.”)

Kate handled it with grace. The smile never left her face, and the only giveaway was her tightening grip around America’s waist. America was not a good actress.

At one point Kate leaned in to whisper, “you’re really good at this.”

America didn’t have the heart to tell her that this was just her actual personality.

“I’m going to go get us some champagne,” Kate quickly pressed a kiss to America’s cheek. They both froze in surprise. America looked down as Kate beat a hasty retreat. Her face tingled. And suddenly she was standing there, alone and awkward. Couples danced in the center of the ballroom; some of them even looked in love. 

“Excuse me,” said a rude voice behind America. She turned around to see the irate face of a waiter. “You’re late and not even in uniform. Get to the kitchen and clean up.”

There was a moment of confusion, before reality came crashing down around America.

“I’m not a fucking waitress,” America said after a beat. Her heart was beating a wild rhythm in her chest, and it felt like acid was pulsing through her veins. “I’m--”

“Is there a problem here?” Kate asked as she sidled back up with a glass in each hand. The waiter seemed to realize his mistake, paling and stuttering out apologies. America barely noticed as he left. Kate stood there awkwardly, unsure of whether to hand the champagne to America or not. America decided to grab it from her and swallow it in one gulp. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” when America got angry, her voice became lower and deeper, rather than high and shrill. “I love being the token brown girl at a party. I love people mistaking me for the help, because why else would I fucking be here? I love being used as a prop for a spoiled, white, rich girl to piss off her parents.”

“Hold on, you were the one who put the ad out. If you weren’t okay with this, then why did you fucking do it?” Kate demanded. She absent-mindedly passed her still full glass to another passing waiter.

“I didn’t, okay! My asshole friend Loki put the thing up as a joke without telling me. I wasn’t supposed to go with you. I was going to explain the whole situation,” America sighed as her explosion ended, rubbing her hand wearily over her face. Kate watched her in shock. “I don’t know why I got in that car with you.”

“Dance with me,” Kate said suddenly.

“That’s not really the reaction I was expecting,” but America didn’t resist as Kate pulled her onto the dancefloor. The music was slow and boring, but when Kate wrapped her arms around America’s neck, she didn’t mind at all. Her body relaxed and she began to breathe more evenly.

“I’m sorry,” Kate said quietly and genuinely. “I really hate these people, but this is where I come from. I don’t notice when I slip back into all the bullshit. I don’t mean to be a spoiled, white girl.”

“You forgot rich. We can’t change who we are, princess.”

“No, but I am trying to change. I haven’t spoken to my dad in months. He actually kicked me out. I’ve been crashing at Clint’s apartment until I can afford my own,” Kate laughed. “Can I tell you a secret? He didn’t even invite me to this party. We’re crashing it.”

America reeled back with wide eyes. “Yeah, you’re really not what I expected.”

“I’m very cool.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Kate giggled and tucked her face into America’s hair. She smelled like expensive perfume, and America was sure she had forgotten to even put on deodorant. At least she had washed her hair this morning. But despite the nerves, holding Kate like this felt really fucking nice. They swayed side to side for a few minutes.

A sudden motion from the other side of the room caught America’s eye. She watched in dawning horror as Kate’s drunk friend, Clint, entered the ballroom and made a beeline to the champagne tower. 

“I know this isn’t a great time, but--” Kate began.

“Clint is here,” America interrupted her. Kate whipped around, a horrified look on her face.

“Kate!” a strange man exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

Kate looked in serious danger of whiplash. Ah, that must have been the dad. And that must be his wife on by his side. She looked barely older than Kate.

“What do you mean what am I doing here?” Kate said in a saccharine sweet tone. “This is the Annual Bishop Christmas Party, isn’t it? Am I not a Bishop?”

“We didn’t receive your RSVP,” the wife simpered.

“What a coincidence. I didn’t get my invitation. It must have gotten lost in the mail,” Kate said. “I brought a plus one along, as well. Dad, this is my girlfriend, America.”

“Hola,” America said as dryly as she could manage.

“Girlfriend! I’ve never heard anything about a girlfriend! America, tell me about yourself,” Kate’s dad spoke in a false jovial tone. He looked like he had smelled something bad. America hoped it was her horrible B.O.

“You know, there’s not really a lot to say,” America mumbled. If Loki were in her place, he already would have spun an elaborate tale, complete with tragic backstory, to both horrify and amuse the people around him. America’s skillset started with withdrawn and ended with taciturn. 

“What do you do for a living?”

“A little bit of this, a little bit of that. I’m in between jobs at the moment. Sleeping on my friend’s couch,” America wasn’t even lying, and she was beginning to feel like a loser. She choked out a, “party all night, sleep all day.”

Kate looked like she was holding back hysterics. America wanted to sink through the floor. 

“Is this a joke to you?” The stepmom demanded.

“Yolo,” Kate replied. Her father sighed deeply.

“I don’t understand where I went wrong with you, Kate. I know you took your mother’s death hard, but I’ve had it enough with your cries for attention. Making up stories, running around with unsuitable boys, and now unsuitable girls.”

“I didn’t make up any story,” Kate looked close to tears by the end of his speech. With each word from her dad she seemed to grow smaller and smaller. It was uncharacteristic of her, even just from the perspective of having just met Kate. “I was raped, and you didn’t believe me.”

America froze, ice in her heart, but Kate’s dad rolled his eyes. “Now, Kate--”

“I wasn’t running around with unsuitable boys. I made friends. Eli and Tommy were my friends.”

“That Bradley boy was a thug, and that Shepherd boy was a sociopath. When are you going to get over this rebellious phase and settle down with someone good for you? No offense intended, America, but you’re just a blight on my daughter’s bright future. I can’t support you when you’re making so many bad decisions.”

“No offense intended, but fuck you,” America interjected. “I’m not okay with this shit. Don’t talk to your daughter like that. You don’t care about what makes her happy; you only care about yourself.”

“Excuse me, but this isn’t any of your business,” the stepmom scowled.

“I care about Kate, so it is my business. You’re both bigots, and you don’t deserve her. She’s more honest to a complete stranger than you would ever be with each other. You’re fake, and you’re disgusting. She deserves to make her own decisions and be respected,” America was practically growling at this point. “She’s Kate Bishop, and she’s fucking awesome.”

They were silent as they stared at America in shock, Kate’s gaze holding a more admiring look. America wondered if she would have to add more, when a loud crashing noise shot through the room.

Clint stood over the collapsed champagne tower.

“Okay, this looks bad.”

\--------------

Kate had insisted on driving America all the way home, instead of dropping her off where they had met. She pulled up to the curb of Loki’s apartment and killed the engine. There was an awkward silence, punctuated by the soft snores coming from Clint in the backseat.

“I’m really sorry about tonight,” Kate apologized again.

“It wasn’t so bad,” America shrugged, and Kate laughed hollowly. The silence resumed. “I guess I’ll go now.”

America reluctantly stepped out of the car and walked towards the apartment entrance. She stopped only when she heard a, “wait!”. Kate scrambled out of the car and onto the sidewalk.

Kate stopped in front of her, blushing lightly. “I’m a mess. I live with a guy twice my age and his dog. I don’t have a steady job. My friends are the only family I have. I guess I’m trying to say I’m not much of a catch.”

“Kate, I live with a guy I used to crawl through dumpsters with. I’m pretty sure he now runs cons, because there’s no other way he earns all this money. I don’t have a job, I don’t have friends, and I don’t have a family. I’m not judging you.”

“But will you date me?” Kate blurted out. America blinked, and Kate covered her face with her hands. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I’m usually much more smooth and charming. I don’t know why you make me so flustered.”

“You have my contact information, princess,” America laughed, feeling lighter than she had for the past few months. “You can call me tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me at [peggycartersgun](http://peggycartersgun.tumblr.com/).


End file.
